


Accident

by graywhatsit



Series: Hatbots [10]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Car Accidents, Gen, Hat Films, Major Character Injury, hatbots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 22:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4116727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graywhatsit/pseuds/graywhatsit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smith should really pay attention when he's driving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accident

When Smith opened his eyes, everything seemed doubled and more than a bit fuzzy. Very slowly, things started to come into more focus, though the longer he sat– wherever the hell he happened to be right now– the darker the world around him got.

    What had happened?

    Something was hissing softly in the dark, and for a moment, he feared some sort of serpent– that is, until he lifted his head a bit.

    Broken glass tinkled, dropping from a shattered windscreen onto the crumpled dash and front hood of his car, where pale smoke drifted, hazy in the dark. Small drops of rain, though quickly growing in size and speed, landed amongst the shards, and he could see dark bits of bark, sticky with sap, dotting the front of his car.

    He must have crashed. The rain. He was going too fast.

    Okay, first things first– take stock of himself. Slowly, he curled and uncurled his fingers, then his toes, slowly shifting his arms and legs. Nothing seemed to be broken, though his ribs hurt like hell. The cool white airbag, now deflated, spared him most of the hurt, draping over his steering wheel. Something dark dripped onto it, staining the material; reaching up, he felt something warm and slippery-wet on his face, finding his fingers dark red when he pulled them back.

    His head was fuzzy, but he was alive and in one piece, for the most part. This is why you always, always wear your seatbelt.

    But he hadn’t been alone in the car.

    A garbled, tinny sound came from his left, and he turned his head– slowly, since the world spun if he went too terribly fast. Trott was there, still in his seat, watching him fearfully. As their eyes met, he seemed to relax, and he opened his mouth. The same sound came out.

    Why wasn’t he talking?

    “You’re awake!” Ross’ voice, thankfully normal, came from behind him, and the bot leaned forward between their seats to watch him. There was a large dent in his head casing, and his synthetic skin was ripped in some places– as Trott’s had been– but he looked operational otherwise.

    “What?”

    “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up. We must have hit a puddle or something and skidded off the road. About…” Ross’ eyes went a little unfocused. A minute or so later– much longer than it should have taken him– he spoke again. “Two hours ago? Trott, is that right?”

    The smaller bot in the front seat began to respond, quickly switching to a simple nod when that same garbled sound came from his throat.

    Smith frowned, taking in the injuries both his friends had sustained. “What happened to him?”

    Carefully, Trott lifted his chin, allowing Smith to see his throat. Even in the dark, the injury was plain to see– a shard of twisted fiberglass had lodged itself into his throat, puncturing the skin and, apparently, his voicebox. Rusty-brown oil coated the edges, dripping down the pale skin, drying on the collar of his shirt.

    “Haven’t you always said he’s talked too much?” Ross joked weakly, then groaned quietly as he pushed at the back driver door. “Didn’t you give us a limit break or something?”

    A series of metallic, scraping squawks came from Smith’s left– Trott was either far from pleased, or explaining to Ross how, exactly, said limit break worked. This was not good for the human’s persistent headache. Closing his eyes, he reached over to close Trott’s mouth. “Ross model, vocal override: bypass strength fetters, use at.. 75% capacity.”

    “Huh? Look, mate, did you hit your-” The android still in the backseat paused, eyes going glassy. A mere moment later, the back door was kicked out– along with a good portion of the rest of the side of the car.

    It was wrecked, anyway. Fumbling with the catch on his seatbelt, Smith slowly crawled out the driver’s side, taking care to keep from touching any sharp shards of material on the ground. He was hurt enough, already. “Everybody out?”

    “Out.” And, with a quiet warbling behind him, it was clear both androids were with him. Everyone was alive and together. Things could have been worse.

    Not to say they were that great right now. Smith crawled forward a little further, preferring to find a tree without a fashionable car-scarf to help him stand. Gripping the rough, slightly dampened trunk for all he was worth, the human hauled himself to his feet. For a brief moment, the world actually kept still, letting him look up the incline to the road they’d been travelling along. The fence they’d broken through was twisted and pulled back, but no lights passed by.

    That though only had a second to register before he was doubled over, whatever had been in his stomach before now on the wetted ground.

    “Now we know you hit your head.” Ross wrinkled his nose at the human spitting onto the ground, trying to clean out his mouth. “Bleeding, throwing up, confusion… you’re concussed.”

    “Fuck off, ‘m not concussed. You’re concussed, you have a dent in your skull.” Smith spat again, keeping bent over for a few moments to make sure his nausea was gone.

    A hand pulled him up to stand straight– Trott, having picked his way over to him. He said more of the garbled, whirring words, interspersed with clicks and breaks, reaching up to tap at Smith’s own head. At his creator’s confused look, he rolled his eyes, taking the sleeve of his jacket in his hand to wipe off Smith’s face, grumbling something else quietly.

    Slowly, surprisingly haltingly, Ross approached them. “Sorry to interrupt your moment–” Trott jabbered something else, tossing the sick-covered garment at him. “Whatever he said, we’re not going anywhere right now. We’ll have to find someplace for tonight, then find a person to help in the morning.”

    “Why not now?”

    Before his vocally-impaired friend could attempt to explain, Ross took over. “Trott can’t talk, I have a dent in my head, and you’re so concussed you can’t stand straight. Besides, I haven’t seen anyone up on the road since we got down here.” He shifted, gritting his teeth. “We just need to find someplace dry.”

    “Nah, we just need to–” Smith paused, having reached into his pocket. Slowly, he took out his phone, or what had once been one. Though he’d been spared, the metal casing had been bent, with the screen cracked in more than one place. “Well, fuck. D’you have a…” He trailed off, forgetting the word for their internal connections, and waved a hand about his head.

    Trott muttered something else, and the human turned on him.

    “At least I’m trying to think of something! What are you doing to help? Standing here and making sarcastic comments no one can understand? Big fucking help, Trott, thanks!”

    The bot’s eyes widened, and before he could say a word or Ross could step in to defend his friend, Smith turned on the taller of the two. “Don’t you fucking start, either! All you’ve been mentioning is what we can’t do– well, what the fuck can we do? Huh?”

    “We can wait until we can get help!”

    Smith scoffed, turning away from his friends to move deeper into the woods. “”Waiting does fuck all; I’m actually going to get us help.”

    He was going the complete wrong way. After exchanging a glance, both androids followed their friend. None of them would last too long on their own.

* * *

    It was slow going for Smith. The world wouldn’t keep still, and with every step forward he took, it seemed another tree had decided against his progress, raising a root or creating a dip in order to trip him up. It sent him crashing into trunks and brambles more than once, and the barbs of a stinging nettle still stuck into his shin from where he’d been successfully thrown to the ground.

    This majorly sucked, but he wasn’t about to turn back and give those androids– those so unhelpful androids– the satisfaction of him crawling back and admitting he was wrong. Not that he was wrong; any second now, he’d come upon the road and he’d find someone to get them back to his home. There, they could be fixed up, and Trott and Ross would apologize for being so rude and useless, and everything would be–

    A tree root trapped his foot once more, and he crashed face first into a dip full of leaf litter. Ross, following more closely behind the human, rolled his eyes and reached for the back of his shirt to pull him up.

    “Don’t!” His voice was a tiny bit muffled, and when he sat up, Smith’s hair and the scruff of his beard were speckled with bits of leaves, but he was back on his feet before Ross could even touch him. “I know where to go! It’s this way.”

    Trott muttered something unintelligible behind his back.

    “Don’t you fucking talk back to me, I made you! I can turn you off, I swear to god!” The smaller android simply huffed, unafraid, until a pinecone sailed past his head. Smith had surprisingly good aim for someone who had trouble standing up straight, and it got him to step back a pace or two, a little startled.

    “Don’t throw shit at him,” Ross scolded, sounding more like a weary parent than an angry one. “You’re acting like a little kid, grow up.”

    It got a pinecone chucked his way, as well.

    “Stop!” Annoyed, Ross grabbed at Smith’s arms, keeping him still before he could bend down to throw anything else. “We get it– you hit your head, it’s dark, cold, and wet, and we’re lost and hurt. It’s a shitty situation, but you can’t keep acting like a twat!”

    Smith growled, twisting his arms out of his friend’s grip. “If you two were actually fucking useful, I wouldn’t have to be! Instead, you’re standing here and being snarky and we’re no closer to being home!”

    It was Trott’s turn to speak up, though not a word of it made any sense. The tirade simply consisted of more of those tinny, warbling sounds. Finding his words weren’t doing it, he gesticulated more fervently, growing increasingly upset. The movement twisted the piece of fiberglass in his throat, cutting him off with a cough and a new trickle of oil.

    “Good talk, Trott, really. Really liked how you fucked yourself even more, it added something. Keep doing it, but don’t go too overboard– maybe I can use the scrap metal for something.” Their creator pushed back from the pair of them and turned to walk away, leaving the androids with such nasty words buzzing in their heads.

* * *

    They found him a little while later, perhaps fifteen minutes, below a rocky overhang. In all honesty, he’d gone in a circle– the road they’d been on was right above their heads. At least it would save time in the morning when they actually attempted to find someone.

    Right now, however, Smith was the one needed attending. He’d managed to curl all of his considerable height into a ball, hugging his knees and leaning back against the rocky wall behind him. Upon hearing his friend’s footsteps on the damp leaves outside, he opened his eyes, watching them carefully.

    Each bot was dripping wet, watching him with unreadable expressions. Ross was leaning towards his right– favoring that leg, seeing how his ankle was twisted strangely, the cuff of his jeans torn and exposing metal bone. He’d never noticed that before. Trott had an arm around his friend, helping to keep him upright.

    After a few moments of simply staring at each other, the smaller android let go of his friend, moving to sit beside Smith, pressed against his side. A low hum sounded, and Smith could feel the heat against his right. Slowly, Ross joined them, heating up his creator’s left side with a similar hum.

    Keeping him from freezing. After all he’d said to them? “You shouldn’t be doing that, you’ll drain your batteries even faster.”

    Ross shrugged a shoulder, wincing as he straightened out his injured leg in front of him, keeping pressure off of the joint. “We’ll be fine, don’t worry about it. One bit of advice, though: make us more durable before you ask us to use our strength, okay? This hurts like a motherfucker.”

    That had been his fault, hadn’t it? “I’m sorry, mate. Both of you. I’m just–”

    Trott nudged him with a shoulder, giving him a look.

    “Right.” Smith watched him for a second, looking over the injury in his throat. The oil flow seemed to have slowed down– though it was taking Trott with it, he seemed a bit sluggish– and the piece was no further into his body. He followed the rusty brown trail, watching it run over his collar, down his shirt– to where his right arm rested, the forearm bent at a sickening angle. “Fucking hell, how did that happen?”

    He opened his mouth, only to shut it again; talking would get him nowhere. Instead, Trott wrote with his fingers ‘car’, then pointed to Smith.

    “I did that?” That’s both of them, then; he hadn’t just hurt them both emotionally, but physically. He felt kind of– well, definitely– sick.

    Trott huffed, then moved his uninjured arm to cross in front of Smith’s chest– right where it was hurting him, he noted.

    “He tried to keep you back against your seat,” Ross translated. “He’s been freaking the fuck out about your airbags, and then we go and crash–” He cut off at a glare from the other android. “What? You were trying to be a hero!”

    “Whatever it was,” Smith started, “thank you. Both of you.” Since he wasn’t allowed to apologize any further, and they were, after all, trying to save him. “What time is it?”

    “Eight, I think.” At Smith’s expression, Ross shrugged. “It’s probably not a good idea to consult anything right now. My processor’s slow as fuck right now. Whatever time it is, we have a while until we can try to get some help.”

    Only eight? Smith didn’t think he’d been tired before eight in over a decade, but here he was. “Does that mean I can sleep?” He yawned, not even bothering to cover his mouth. What’s the point if there’s no danger of spreading germs, right?

    A sharp nudge from Trott kept his eyes open. With a stern expression, he reached up to tap at Smith’s head. The message was there, clear as day: you’re concussed, so don’t even think about it.

    “But Trott..”

    A nudge from his other side– what was with these robots and pushing him around? “He’s right, Smith. It’s not a good idea to sleep right now, not until you’ve actually been looked at. Brains are fragile, and we need that thing in working order.”

    “Aw, would you miss me?”

    “Considering you’re the only one who could put us back together.. not much, no.” Ignoring Smith’s cries of just how harsh that was, honestly, can you believe that, Trott, the taller android peered out from under the roof of their makeshift shelter. No sign of moon or stars, and the rain was no slower or lighter than it had been. “We can try for help in a few hours. For right now, just sit here. Be quiet.”

    “You can’t tell me what to do.” Even with that petulant response, Smith settled back, sandwiched between his two space heater friends, doing his best to stay awake until morning. They were alive and together– seriously, almost on top of each other, damned cuddly robots– and that was the important part.

    Until he actually had to explain what happened to his car and get a new one.

    First things first.

* * *

    They managed to get a ride back into town from a very bewildered but thankfully kind individual heading into work about five in the morning. Through some clever use of what they could find in the totaled car still wrapped around the tree, the bot’s injuries were mostly hidden– they did not need to explain why a person with something buried in his throat was still alive or why a person was still alive and well with a dent in his head and metal sticking out of his leg.

    Well, they didn’t want to explain it, anyway.

    The hard part was actually getting the man to let him go home first, rather than the hospital. It took a bit of coaxing and a lot of bullshitting from both Smith and Ross to convince them, plus one timely point from Trott to explain just what time it was. He didn’t want to be late, did he?

    Besides, Smith absolutely refused to go in and get himself checked out before his friends were fixed. Beyond stubborn refusal, this was foolish refusal, but there was no changing his mind.

    You don’t tell Smith what to do.

    Finally, he left them behind in order to get himself fixed, allowing the bots some time to relax and not think about being stranded and hurt for the first time in a day. It takes a lot out of you, even if you don’t have an organic body.

    They were still on the couch, plugged into outlets when Smith returned, stitches on his forehead and instructions on rest post-concussion, with a plastic bag on his arm. Without much ceremony at all, he flopped between his friends and passed them each an item from the bag.

    “Chocolate?” Trott looked up at him, confused. “Smith, we can’t–”

    “Yeah, you can. I put those features back in.” The human had already chomped off a bit of his own, watching the television in front of them. “A treat.”

    An apology.

    After watching their creator for a few moments, a little dumbstruck, the robots simply tucked into the confections in their hands, scooting in a bit closer. Soon enough, it was one giant pile on the couch.

    Not that any of them really minded.


End file.
